by Zee Monodee
“You won’t leave?” she asked.
At that moment, only he and Margo existed in that room. The distance across the table disappeared, as if he stared into the depths of her soul when he gazed at her.
“No. I’m staying on.”
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. He’d seen what he wanted to see in the flush of her cheeks, in the sudden sparkle of her eyes.
She wanted him to be here, and if all he’d get, for the time being, came through little non-verbal cues, he’d satisfy himself with what she gave. The mouth could say untruthful words. Body language couldn’t lie.
The chime of ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone,’ Liverpool F.C’s anthem, resounded in the kitchen and broke through the moment.
“Emma,” Margo chastised when the girl pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her jeans. “I told you no phone at the dinner table.”
“It’s Cillian, Mum.”
Margo huffed. Jamie understood. With the O’Shea lad involved, little they could do, Emma being completely infatuated.
“Emma, I warned you I’d take away your phone next time you used it for something that’s not an emergency. Hand it over.”
“Mu-um! Can’t I just take this call? Please, please, please?”
Margo sighed. Emma didn’t need more of a response to press the phone to her ear and speak a few sentences in hushed tones.
The frown deepened on Margo’s face. Another conversation he needed to have with Emma—proper etiquette, and how not to annoy her mother. And it also appeared he had to coach Margo on the ways of tween discipline. The woman was clueless.
“Emma.” A clear note of warning rang in Margo’s voice.
The girl cut her call and grinned at them—the kind of angelic a smile can get me out of trouble grin—and slid her phone towards her mother.
“Sorry, Mum. I won’t do it again.”
Both he and Margo frowned. Way too easy—Emma rarely complied with punishments. Her apology also sounded like she wanted to butter her mother up.
“Can Cillian come over to watch the game, Mum? Jamie recorded it on his DVR, and Cillian’s dad forced him to go fishing today.”
Right. A whole pound of butter used to get to her real goal.
Margo’s gaze met his across the table, while Emma’s darted between the two of them.
“Come on, I already told him yes.”
Dread clouded Margo’s blue eyes. She didn’t pinch her lips or do anything else to signify disapproval. Nothing but the concern etched on her tense features betrayed her.
“Emma, you are so grounded,” she said.
The girl rolled her eyes. “But not tonight? Please, Mum. This is my whole existence we’re talking about here!”
Oh, no—over-dramatized tween crush. The way the situation looked, Margo would blow her top off in a few minutes, and WWIII would start between mother and daughter. He had to defuse the eruption of the war.
“I’ll watch them for tonight,” he said.
“Mum, please. Cillian’s already on the way. His mum’s dropping him over in a few.”
Margo blinked a few times, before she pinched the bridge of her nose, and then nodded.
“Great!” Emma jumped up and went to her mother, whom she hugged hard.
“This is so not over, young lady,” she said.
“Thank you, Mum.”
Margo sighed.
Emma squealed, and she released Margo, to bounce with restless energy all over the kitchen. Then she ducked back to her seat, wolfed down her food, and even took the adults’ empty bowls to the sink afterward. Hopping from foot to foot, she kept darting looks out the kitchen window.
“Emma, he won’t get here so quickly.” Jamie chuckled. The lad wasn’t a teleporter, surely.
He caught Margo biting her lower lip again. Stop harassing the poor flesh, he wanted to tell her. Your lips are made for kissing.
He itched to kiss her. The opportunity never arose, though.
Then make it happen.
That, he would. Very soon, if he had his way.
A knock came at the door. Emma darted towards the doorway. Margo dashed out of her seat fast enough to stop the girl in her tracks.
“You don’t open the door after dark, got it?”
“Mu-um!”
“Stay here,” she said in a firm, no-nonsense tone. “I’ll go see.”
She left, her sandal-clad feet making very little sound on the parquet. Margo reminded him of a cat—the stealthy walk, silent tread, the way she fiercely presented herself to the world as an independent, confident creature.
Yes, the woman he’d come to know proved all that, and more. Vulnerable, lonely, needing warmth and support.
Time ticked by, and she didn’t return.
“What’s taking her so long?” Emma asked in a tone remarkably like whining.
This wasn’t like her.
Jamie stood and walked out of the kitchen, after ensuring Emma would heed his words and stay put. He didn’t like this—trepidation made his heart beat faster the farther he walked into the corridor.
Margo’s muted voice reached him when he neared the corner to the front lobby. She sounded angry, impatient. He frowned and eased along the wall to glance at the door.
The heavy oak panel lay ajar, the silhouette of a man visible through the side glass pane. Tall, of broad stature, he had his dark head, dusted with silver at the temples, bent towards Margo, who rebuked him with clipped words.
When he brought his suit-clad arm up and tried to settle his hand on her shoulder, Jamie’s blood heated up.
Who was that bloke?
Margo shrugged the big hand off, and a small measure of satisfaction danced inside Jamie’s chest. She wouldn’t fall for any bull, and the man didn’t seem like someone she’d gotten tangled with.
The guy then glanced up, hands raised in a motion of surrender.
Jamie froze.
Those grey eyes—he saw them every time he peered into the face of the girl he looked after in the evenings.
The man outside could be none other than Emma’s father.
Chapter Seven
Margo seethed in her spot on the front porch. Her gaze never left the silhouette of the tall, dark man until he got into his Range Rover Evoque and left the property. Only then did she allow herself to breathe. If she’d let go, she’d have spewed out words she’d regret uttering, because never before had she experienced such a bubbling up of foul emotions towards a person.
Robbie Barnes. Good for nothing, rich layabout who’d gotten Cora pregnant and who’d wanted her to have a termination. A child had not fitted into his plans, let alone a steady girlfriend.
Today, he wanted Margo to believe he’d done a one-eighty and regretted his decision? Twelve years too late for that.
She balled her hands, clenched her fingers tight, to bring herself a semblance of composure when she shook all over with anger. To think she had introduced the two of them. She’d grown up with him in North London, his parents being her godparents. As a teen, she couldn’t wait to get away from his careless, playboy ways. He made passes at all her female friends; she could never hold on to a friendship for long before Robbie tried to get into the other girl’s knickers. Good riddance, she’d thought when she’d moved to Cambridge and he’d stayed in Hampstead.
But she’d met him again, through a chance encounter in a pub near the university. Unfortunately, Cora had accompanied her that day. One look at Robbie, and Cora had lost everything. Her heart, her senses—the girl had seen good looks, a killer smile, and lots of money. Cora had lived to have fun, and Robbie’s middle name had always been ‘fun.’ Only Margo had been privy to the immature and dissolute lout behind the façade.
He’d said he was working on a construction project in the area. He’ll be gone soon, she’d thought. He did leave a few months later, but before that, he’d wreaked heavy damage, leaving Cora heartbroken and pregnant.
Bright headlights illuminated the driveway, a
nd her first thought clamoured that Robbie had returned. She squinted, and heaved a sigh of relief when a beat-up Ford Fiesta stopped in front of the house.
Cillian came out, as did his mother. A small, pudgy woman, she shuffled over to where Margo stood.
Bugger, she’d have to deal with them. Even if Robbie had flipped her over twice, she couldn’t let her distress show. The O’Sheas didn’t need to know that one of her biggest fears had just come true, that Robbie Barnes now wanted to be a part of his daughter’s life.
Pasting on a smile, she placed a hand on Cillian’s shoulder. “Emma’s waiting for you inside.”
The lad nodded, and scoffed when his mother ruffled his hair.
The other woman smiled at Margo.
“Kelly O’Shea,” she introduced herself.
“Margo Nolan.”
“You’re sure you don’t mind having my boy over?”
“My daughter’s friends are always welcome.” Damn, did she have to sound like a stuck-up cow?
“My Cillian’s much taken with your Emma,” Kelly said. “I must admit I was worried, what with all them girls at the school. Your Emma’s a good sort, though, grounds him nicely. He couldn’t have done better, I think.”
So she and Jamie weren’t the only ones who suspected more brewed between the tweens. To think, those kids hovered on the brink of turning twelve. A small degree of pleasure flittered through her at the compliment.
“Cillian’s a good one, too.” She smiled at Kelly. Suddenly taking in that they still stood on the porch, she turned towards the door. “Would you like to come in? I can put on the kettle for tea.”
And invite the Queen over, too, in the process. When did she turn into a polite, social maven?
Kelly laughed. “Thanks, but I have to be off. Got the brood waiting for me at home. Of course, their dad’s down at the pub.” She shook her head. “I’ll pick Cillian up in a couple hours. They should be done watching their game.”
Kelly climbed into her car and reversed out of the driveway. Margo waited until she’d left to let the smile slide off her face. Her shoulders slumped, hurting from the stiff pressure she’d imposed on her spine while talking with the other woman.
“Everything okay?”
She turned to stare into Jamie’s face. Worry knitted his eyebrows, his eyes dark and hooded. Almost menacing.
How much had he seen, and heard?
“You handled her well.”
Given the circumstances, she heard in his tone.
He knew.
“Margo, I think we need to talk.”
Her stomach twisted into knots. She’d heard that when women uttered such words, men wanted to run for cover. Could genders be reversed on that assumption? Something ominous hung in his tone ... He must’ve seen Robbie, put two and two together.
Bugger! An explanation for Jamie? Not what she wanted, or needed, right then. Especially not when he bore such an intense expression, his hands buried in the pockets of the same hoodie he’d worn the first time she’d lain eyes on him.
“Jamie, now’s not a good time.”
He quirked an eyebrow. Somehow, he didn’t need to do more to signify that ‘no’ wasn’t an option.
“Fine.” She sighed. “Where are the children?”
“In the corridor. We need to head to my place so they can watch the game.”
He went in, then came out seconds later with the tweens in tow. As expected, Emma and Cillian talked and laughed in their own little bubble, oblivious to anyone or anything around them.
Good—Emma needn’t know yet that the errant father she’d never met had returned into the picture. She wondered what Cora, or worse, Edna, had told the girl about Robbie. She’d never asked Emma, and her daughter hadn’t brought up the subject. Yet.
Jamie closed the front door behind them. He placed a hand on Margo’s upper arm when he passed by her.
“You’re coming over, too,” he said softly.
Too softly. She grew afraid. Not the kind of fear that made one want to cut and run, but one that had her growing cold and apprehensive.
Nothing good would come out of the encounter. Her gut twisted, and she yearned to throw up. Too much coiled tension in Jamie. She didn’t need another confrontation with a headstrong man tonight.
His grip on her felt strong. Not bruising or alarming, yet not gentle, either. Anger had gotten him in its clutches, too. Why?
Once inside his half of the house, she waited in the lobby while he settled the kids in the living room in front of the TV. He then took her hand and pulled her into his office.
From where they stood, with the door open, they could hear the noise from the game.
He whirled around on her, crossed his arms. “That man is Emma’s father.”
She nodded.
His jaw clenched, and she thought he’d winced.
“What did he want?”
Don’t ask me that as if I’ve just committed a crime and need to confess.
Her hackles rose, yet she kept herself in check. Too drained right then, she didn’t wish to argue. After stepping to a plush sofa, she sat down and brought her hands up to cover her face.
Soft warmth settled on the backs of her fingers. Strong hands clutched hers and brought them down as deep-set, intense brown eyes peered into her face.
“What’s the matter, Margo? What’s wrong?” Jamie asked, on his knees in front of her.
Everything. Her world had just come crashing down, because she didn’t know what to do. The dilemma didn’t spell a question of what she wanted to do—the decision concerned Emma and the girl’s wellbeing. Maybe he could help. The heat in his palms reassured her while the concern in his gaze and on his features soothed her ragged mind and soul.
How did she think she could live without this man? He had worked his way into her life in a way that made him inextricable from her and Emma’s existences. Since he wasn’t leaving ...
Trust him, a little voice whispered.
How can I, when I vowed never to trust any man after Harry?
He’s not Harry, the voice reassured.
“The man you saw.” She paused, moistening her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. “His name is Robbie Barnes. Yes, he is Emma’s biological father.”
“Is he out to cause you trouble?”
How best to explain the situation? The Robbie she had known had definitely spelled trouble, but the man she’d seen today, she couldn’t be sure. That’s what bothered her. He seemed different. She wanted to cling to the idea she had of him, that of the no-good heir. Yet, his very appearance today, the way he carried himself, told her he had become a mature man, no longer a flighty youth.
“Margo, will he try to take Emma away from you?”
She blinked out of her thoughts. “No. He can’t.”
Jamie raised an eyebrow.
“He signed away his rights before her birth. After he tried to get Cora to have an abortion, I had the papers drawn up, and he made no fuss over agreeing.”
“Then what does he want?”
“He ... he says he just wants to get to know her.”
“And you believe him.”
Was that scorn in his voice? She squinted, her gaze roaming over his face. His jaw tensed, eyes narrowing, nostrils flared slightly.
She pulled her hands from his, then got up and stepped away from the sofa. He couldn’t be angry with her, could he? What right did he have for that?
“Whatever I say or do, he is her father, Jamie.”
He snorted. “Right. A man who’d tried to wipe her out when she’d just started to exist, and who didn’t hesitate to sign her out of his life.”
“Unfortunately, not all fathers display stellar behaviour.”
“Fortunately, there are laws, and sensible people out there to keep such bastards away from their innocent children.”
Her blood did a quick turn in her body. “Are you saying I’m not sensible?”
He glared at her. She refused to waver under hi
s intimidating stance. He might stand quite a few inches taller than she did, but see if she’d back down.
“You’re considering letting him into her life, aren’t you?”
She didn’t reply, not knowing what to say.
“There,” he said, disdain dripping from the word. “A man who’s shown no consideration for Emma for the past eleven years suddenly waltzes in from nowhere, and you can just let him breeze through? Have you even thought what effect it will have on Emma?” He crossed the distance between them in two long strides. “The girl in the living room there. She’s the one who matters.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Do you?”
“To hell with you, Jamie. How do you expect me to think sensibly with you breathing down my neck?”
He brought his hands up to cradle her face in his palms.
“Look at me.” His tone lowered, cajoled. “Men like him are up to no good. Don’t do that to her.”
“She has a right to know him, if she wants to.”
He released her. “Blimey, Margo. How can you think like that?”
“What if he’s changed?”
“You really think that?” He grabbed her shoulders. “Where was he all these years, then?”
“He knew Edna would not let him see her.”
“Sensible of her.”
“She wouldn’t let me see her, either, and that was sensible, too?” Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them away. A big, bitter lump settled in her throat, but the dam had unleashed. She shrugged out of his grip. “Emma should’ve been with me for the past five years, ever since Cora died. Because of that witch and her hatred for me, I was denied any contact with the girl I consider my daughter, when the law said she was mine, when Cora named me her guardian. Still think she had a right thought in her twisted mind?”
“I never said that.”
“Didn’t you? That’s certainly what I heard.”
“Margo.” He sighed. “Listen, I’m a man, and I know I’d never have any child of mine written off, let alone terminated. Don’t trust him.”
How she wanted to heed his words. “He still remains her father, Jamie. She has a right to know.”
His face hardened, and she found herself looking at a stranger.